Tatiana and Alexander: A Novel(135)

"I think he'll notice when he wakes up."

"So?"

"He'll send them after us."

"Ah, he would, wouldn't he? That's the thing about him. He's a bit...baleful, don't you think?"

"Don't think twice about it," said Alexander. "It's a Soviet thing."

"Even stronger in Ouspensky," Pasha muttered, but Alexander sprung up and shook Ouspensky. It was near midnight. It was time.

Alexander opened the window. It was a rainy and stormy night, and it was hard to see. He thought that might play to their advantage. The guards wouldn't willingly be looking up at the rain. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

With the ends of the ropes tied around their waists, the slack rolled up in their hands, their belongings tied around their backs, the wire cutters in Alexander's boot, they stood and waited for the signal from Constantine. The guards on the terrace had already left for the night. Constantine would wave as soon as the guards were gone from the garden, and then Alexander would jump first, then Pasha, then Ouspensky.

Finally, a few minutes after midnight, Constantine waved and moved out of the way. Alexander flung himself out of the small window. The rope had four meters of slack. He bounced hard--too hard--against the wet stone wall, and then quickly released the roll of rope bit by bit as he ran down the wall to the ground. Pasha and Ouspensky were right behind him, but a little slower. He ran across the terrace and jumped over the parapet, releasing the rope bit by bit in a great hurry. The rope was too short, f*ck, it yanked him up two meters above the grass, but it was all right, because he let go, fell into the sloshing, icy wet grass, rolled, jumped up and ran to the barbed wire, his cutters already out of his boot. Pasha was behind him, Ouspensky, breathing heavily, was behind Pasha. By the time they got to him, seconds later, the barbed wire was already cut. They squeezed through the hole and hid in the trees over the precipice. The floodlights came on. The guards took longer tonight to come out. It was windy and raining hard. Alexander glanced at the floodlit castle to see if the rope had been pulled up by Constantine. It could have been, it was hard to see through the rain. The guards were still not out and Alexander had extra time to attach one rope fifteen meters long to the branches of the three-hundred-year-old oak. This time he let Ouspensky and Pasha go first. The three of them slowly edged down the slippery wall, suspending themselves over the precipice. It was dark, and a good thing too because Ouspensky called out, "Captain, did I ever tell you I'm afraid of heights?"

"No, and now is not the f*cking time."

"I was thinking now is a very good time."

"It's pitch black. There is no height. Just come on! Move a little faster."

Alexander was soaked to the skin. German trench coats were made of thick canvas, but weren't waterproof. What good were they?

They all released the rope and jumped to the ground a minute later. Alexander cut through the barbed wire fence surrounding Colditz at the bottom of the hill and they were out.

Now he wished the weather would quieten. Who wanted to run at night in this weather?

"Everybody good?" Alexander said. "We did great."

"I'm good," said Ouspensky, panting.

"I'm good, too," said Pasha. "I scraped myself on something when I landed. Scraped my leg."

Alexander got out a flashlight. Pasha's trousers were slightly ripped at the thigh, but he was barely bleeding. "Must have been the barbed wire. Just a scratch. Let's go."

They were running, running all day and night, or maybe they slept in barns at night, but they dreamed of running, and when they opened their eyes, they were exhausted. Alexander ran slowly, Pasha ran slower, Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

and Ouspensky barely moved. In the fields, in the rivers, in the woods. A day went by, then another, how far had they gotten from Colditz? Maybe thirty kilometers. Three grown men, five healthy lungs between them, and thirty kilometers. They weren't even past Chemnitz, just south-west. There were no trains, and they did their best to avoid paved roads. How were they going to get to Lake Constance on the border of Switzerland at this rate?

Pasha slowed down even more on the third day. He stopped chatting in between breaths, and stopped eating on the third night. Alexander noticed because when he said, Pasha, eat some fish, Pasha replied that he wasn't hungry. Ouspensky made a joke, something like, I'll eat everything, don't have to ask me twice, and Alexander gave him the fish without a second glance, but he stared at Pasha. He took a look at Pasha's thigh. It was raw and red and oozing yellow liquid. Alexander poured diluted iodine on it, sprinkled some sulfa powder on it and bandaged it. Pasha said he was feeling cold. Alexander touched him. He felt warm.

They made a lean-to with their sheets for all three of them, and they crawled in and kept barely warm, and in the middle of the night, Alexander woke up because he was sweating. He thought there was a fire in the lean-to, he jumped up with a start. But it wasn't a fire. It was just a burning Pasha.

What's wrong with you, Alexander whispered.

Don't feel so good, Pasha mouthed inaudibly.

Everything was silent and mute. Alexander used the last of their water, placing rags on Pasha's head. It helped a little. The water was gone, and the rags were hot from Pasha's forehead, and Pasha was burning. Alexander went out in the cold rain and got more water.